


Worst. Crossover. Ever.

by Splatx



Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [14]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), The Simpsons
Genre: Aw fuck I can't believe I've done this, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Dimension Travel, How the hell do you write the Simpsons, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recommend Tags I've forgotten pls, Tags May Change, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: After a few minutes, Lisa spoke up, “Miss?” and waited for the woman to grunt an acknowledgement, “Where are you taking us to?”“Valentine,” the woman said, guiding the horses to take a left at a fork in the road, “It’s about an hour’s ride from here.”
Series: Evan, also known as "This is a Bad Idea(TM) [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876702





	Worst. Crossover. Ever.

“We can spend another week at the ranch.”

Naturally, Homer nearly overturned their car but, as it always seemed to be, it was a _nearly,_ and they raced back to the ranch which, really, they weren’t too sure how welcome they’d be at.

  
  


They drove, and they drove, and they drove. The car was filled with mindless chatter - Bart was excited to see Clara again, Marge was looking forward to swapping recipes with Cookie, Lisa was nervous to see Luke after nearly getting his sister killed, and Homer wanted to try his luck with the beavers again.

But… they hadn’t driven this far, had they? They’d only been an hour gone from the ranch, if that, and was it really 6:47? They’d left from the ranch at 4:21…

“Homer?” Marge’s eyes went to the clock on the dashboard, eyes going wide when she noticed the time, “I think you missed a turn…”

Homer looked around, clenching his fingers on the wheel - where had the fences gone? “Nonsense Marge! I’m taking the scenic route!”

“Dad?” Lisa looked around - were those _pronghorn?_ but they were there and gone before she could say anything, skittering away in alarm - “I think we’re lost…”

“I’m hungry,” Bart whined, holding his stomach.

and then it was 7:14, and where had the time gone? They didn’t remember saying anything, didn’t remember the grass turning to trees, but suddenly Homer had to slam on the brake to keep from crashing into the biggest fucking deer he’d ever seen (“ELK!” Lisa screamed), the car swerving from side to side before crashing into a massive tree.

  
  


“Is everyone okay?” Marge twisted to look at her kids as Maggie began to wail, Bart and Lisa wide-eyed and holding their arms out in front of her to keep her from being thrown even as they said “I’m okay mom!” at the same time.

Homer groaned from where his face had been smashed into the wheel, sitting back and rubbing at his nose. “‘m hurt, I’m very hurt!” Marge leaned over and rubbed his nose, the man groaning and whining and generally making a fuss over himself,

“Oh, it’s just a bloody nose Homie, it’ll be fine.”

  
  


They piled out of the car, Marge swaying and cooing over Maggie until she stopped bawling, though still she whimpered and sniffled, wiping at her tears and snotty nose with her dress.

The car looked totaled - the front was crumpled clear to the dashboard, and it looked a miracle that Marge and Homer hadn’t been grievously hurt. It smoked, and so they hurried to unload their things from it, setting them in a heap off on the other side of the road just in case.

“Dad… what’re we gonna do?” Lisa whimpered - they were out in the middle of nowhere, thoroughly lost, surrounded by trees to the point that they couldn’t tell where the sun was coming from, no idea which way to walk, their car near to bursting into flames, and it was close to nightfall.

“It’s okay Leese,” Bart patted her shoulder, “The wolves’ll eat you before you can starve!”

“Bart!”

“What?” he grinned, “it’s true!” but then he saw the tears starting to well up in Lisa’s eyes and sighed, grabbing her hand. And if it settled him some… well, no one needed to know. “Hey Leese… you’re gonna outlive all of us, you can eat the grass and the leaves.”

Despite herself, she giggled, reaching up to rub her eyes.

  
  


“Alright kids,” Marge got their attention, holding up some blankets that she’d dug out from their luggage, “we’re going to be spending the night out here it seems, so let’s make the best of it! We’re going to be having a camp out!”

Homer, naturally, was trying (and, of course, failing) to make a campfire.

The kids grabbed a blanket apiece and curled up around the sticks that had yet to so much as spark or smoke, shivering already and dreading the night’s cold that hadn’t yet even set in. And then—

—Lisa gasped.

“Lisa? What’s wrong?” Marge’s grip tightened on Maggie, the baby’s arms flailing, and she looked around frantically.

“The trees! If Bart climbs the trees he could see where we need to go!” and Marge shook her head,

“Absolutely not! He’ll break his neck!” before looking at Homer, “Homer, I’ll set the fire, you climb the tree!”

  
  


Homer twisted his ankle falling out of the tree, and Bart scarpered up without a problem. “Oh be careful!” Marge called up, while Lisa yelled after him “What do you see?”

“Trees!” he yelled down, clinging to the trembling tree, “trees, trees, more trees… and trees! Oh, and a cliff!”

As one, aside from Bart, the family sighed. “Alright Bart, come down - carefully!” before

“Wait, I see someone! There’s a road that way!” he pointed a bit of a distance off and began to scurry down the tree, jumping down into Homer’s arms and then they were running, hurrying to catch the person, and they barely made it.

  
  


It could barely be called a road; then again, the one they’d been on before had been exactly the same. It was dirt, more dust than that, heavily overgrown aside from two ruts dug into the ground. And it wasn’t just a _person_ either - not some person walking down the path, and not someone driving, either.

They thought they must, surely, have wandered back to the Lazy-I-Ranch, or something similar. Because why else would a woman be driving a pair of horses (and an odd pair at that!) to pull a wagon? And she looked the part, too, denim pants and vest and a cowboy sort of hat.

“HEY!”

“Wait!”

“Hello!”

“STOP!”

Maggie whimpered.

Homer found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, and they all froze. The woman stared from Homer, to Marge, then to Maggie to Lisa to Bart, wolf-green eyes hard, “What.”

Homer whimpered, and proceeded to piss his pants.

“Please, we don’t want no trouble.” Marge brought her free hand up appeasingly, and the kids followed her example, Homer doing the same after a long moment, “We’re lost… my husband crashed our car, can you help us?”

For a long moment, the woman didn’t say anything. Until finally she looked again at the kids, lowering the gun though still she kept it in her lap, “Where to?”

“The Lazy-I-Ranch, we were there a few hours ago and we were going to go back, but we must have taken a wrong turn.”

The woman frowned, tilted her head like a confused dog, “Never heard of it ma’am.” she sounded oddly suspicious, hand tightening on the gun.

“What?” Bart blurted out, while Lisa came out with, “But we were just there!”

The woman’s eyes darted to them, “I know this area like the back of my hand, and there ain’t never been a ‘Lazy-I-Ranch.’ I don’t know what trick you’re pullin’, but I don’t appreciate it.”

Homer whimpered.

Marge rushed to soothe the woman’s raised hackles, “We’re not trying to pull any tricks. Please, if you know the area, can you take us to the nearest town? Our luggage is just back here.” she took a deep breath, a moment to hitch Maggie up higher on her hip, _“Please,_ I just want to get a roof over their heads for the night.”

The woman looked them over - her eyes lingered on Homer’s piss-stain, on Maggie’s tear-tracks and the redness of Lisa and Bart’s eyes, before finally she nodded. She swung down from the wagon, boots thudding in the dirt, and walked around to grab the harness of the rightmost horse, a bulky, fat, grey beast, and began to pick her way through the brush, leading them carefully to keep the wagon from catching on the plants and stones.

  
  


Their car was gone.

Their _car_ was _gone._

Their luggage, thank god, was still where they’d left it, but their _car,_ their _one ton_ car, was gone.

The woman didn’t react other than to raise an eyebrow at the crumpled tree, looking around for the crashed car, as they gaped at where it should have been. But she didn’t say a word, instead led the horses a bit down the road in the direction they’d been going so they wouldn’t have to carry the luggage far, and—

—“Oh my god!”

They spun around, the woman with a snarl on her lips and the gun half-drawn, only to stare at Lisa in confusion (the Simpsons in frustrated understanding) as she covered her mouth in disgust, finding herself face to face with the glazed-over eyes of a puma. Looking at the cart closely for the first time, she found it was layered in pelts, the puma’s carcass thrown in it half-hazardly. Marge looked at the woman and then Lisa, hissing “Lisa!” and Lisa knew better - it disgusted her, the casual disregard of life horrified her, but they needed this woman’s favor and so she said, “I just… wasn’t expecting that. Sorry.” and the woman nodded, stooping down to grab one of their suitcases and pitching it into the back of the wagon.

  
  


Some half an hour later, and they were done packing the wagon. The woman sighed, taking another look around before setting the gun on the ground, leaning it against the cart and taking a moment to stretch, before tugging free a pelt and tossing it so it sprawled across the front seat of the wagon. They’d tried starting up a few conversations with her but she’d not done much to carry them so finally they’d ended up working in silence.

“Up you get,” the woman grunted, stooping down and cupping her hands to boost first Lisa, then Bart into the back, Lisa hurrying to clamber onto one of the suitcases, trying her best not to touch any of the furs, while Bart sat cross legged on what he was pretty sure was a wolf pelt _(‘cool!’)_ , before helping Marge up as well, grabbing Homer by the elbow before he could follow, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of urine on him. “In the front seat.”

She stretched the pelt across the seat before boosting him up with a strained grunt, walking around and grabbing her gun on the way, stopping to scratch the leftmost horse, a mouse-colored beast of the same breed as the other, before swinging up easy-as-that and clicking her tongue, the horses beginning to trot down the road.

  
  


After a few minutes, Lisa spoke up, “Miss?” and waited for the woman to grunt an acknowledgement, “Where are you taking us to?”

“Valentine,” the woman said, guiding the horses to take a left at a fork in the road, “It’s about an hour’s ride from here.”


End file.
